Halo
by klomystr
Summary: Prequel to previously posted story The Killing Moon. Why would a landlocked pirate get conned into doing something good? Hadn't it happened before? Postseries MuFuu fic. M rating for bad language duh it's Mugen!, mild violence, later adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** Hello! Finally! The "prequel" to my first fanfic, "The Killing Moon". It took me a while to get into Mugen's head, but I think I finally got there. Please feel free to give me feedback! I definitely need it on this one, even though it's fun to write. I write slowly (I really should be writing my dissertation!) and prefer short chapters, so please be patient with me.

All the standard disclaimers apply. I don't own Samurai Champloo, its characters, its music, or plots. Neither do I own the rights to Depeche Mode's "Halo", which ran through my head along with this story's bouncy plot bunny.

This first chapter is dedicated to Supreme Bananas, who kept my muse kickin'. Thanks!!

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**Chapter One: Shackles on your feet**

When the dead man bit Mugen, he knew it was time for a change.

He had no idea how many weeks, months, hell, years had passed since he walked away from the stiff and the brat on a clear summer's day. Mugen thought it had maybe only been a couple of years, but it had never occurred to him to keep track. Somewhere along the way, he had stopped counting anything but the number of assholes he'd killed on one hand, and the number of women he'd screwed on the other. He didn't know which hand he liked counting on more but he knew he liked to keep those hands busy.

Because he was too occupied keeping those hands busy, it was several seasons before he realized he was going nowhere in an all-too-familiar route.

Mugen hadn't just been wandering wherever he felt like going; he had been subconsciously treading the route he'd taken with Jin and Fuu in their crazy search for a smelly old man who died before Mugen ever had the chance to see if he'd been worth the trouble. Occasionally, he'd rouse enough from the haze of his indifferent thoughts to recognize a place – _we tried to sleep here once, but my snoring woke up the old broad who lived inside_ – and he'd shudder in disgust at his sentimentality. Such fragments of memories made him feel weak, stupid, and pathetic, so he tried to ignore them. Still, it wasn't until he had had six or seven – _or, _scratching his head, _maybe twenty?_ – of these flashes of recognition that he realized what he'd been doing. He was looking for traces of stiff or the brat. Hunting for them like a lost dog. Fighting and chasing tail along the way, sure, but beneath it all, he knew he'd never felt more satisfied than when he'd had a purpose, a destination. _What had we said? Friends? _Just thinking the word made him want to automatically spit in denial.

He wondered if he was nuts, or just desperate. Deep down Mugen thought in either case, it was pathetic.

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The fish was none too fresh, and the serving girl's ass was way too bony, but Mugen kind of liked this little place – _Where am I? Naka-something_ – mainly because he had a lifetime guarantee of free nihonshu here. Some months ago, he'd been sitting in this same spot when a rowdy group of bandits had burst into the tiny restaurant and began harassing the owner and his wife and daughter. The bandits hadn't been much fun to kill, as they weren't even well-armed (_Who the hell fights with fish knives?)_, but at least their leader had put up a satisfyingly good fight. Though he'd only jumped up because it had been _days_ since he'd had the chance to kick somebody's ass, his action had been misinterpreted as honorable (the word made Mugen's shoulders twitch in irritation), thus, the offer of eternal gratitude in the form of booze.

Mugen chuckled to himself at the memory. _Dumb-asses_, he thought smugly, _don't know what they got themselves into. I can drink _a lot_ of nihonshu. _He glanced sideways towards the serving girl, who was kneeling next to another table, carefully pouring tea to a couple of pruny-looking dudes. Mugen raised his eyebrow when he noticed her wiggling her butt in his direction, clearly trying to get his attention. _Old man should've just let me screw his daughter, 'cause I ended up nailing her a few times anyway. Give me enough booze and I'll nail almost anything._

For some reason, Mugen suddenly thought of a scrawny pink-kimonoed brat, and slammed home another shot of the wine.

_Ah, just what I needed._

Mugen roughly swiped his forearm across his stubbled, sweaty mouth and forcibly blinked a few times to clear his vision. He looked again to the serving girl, and frowned slightly at the disgusted look on her plain face. Her customers had clearly drunk too much, and were clearly asking for more than the bill. Ordinarily, Mugen would keep his nose out of such business, as he knew very well his scruples could hardly compare to most anyone's, but Mugen, in the end, _was_ a practical, if not always foresightful, man. And he'd be damned if he let any pea-brained dorks screw up the one and only sure deal in his whole life. It was, after all, free booze.

So, grumbling a bit, Mugen hauled himself upright and slid over to the only other occupied table in the joint, picking his teeth with his pinky nail as he sized up the competition. Shrivelled, yes, but they might be scrappy.

"So, you assholes gonna bother this chick all night, or are you gonna get the hint and get the fuck outta here? Some of us have luh-," Mugen stumbled a bit here – maybe he was drunker than he thought after perhaps six hours of non-stop nihonshu, "-legitimate business here." The serving girl gave a little squeal of delight at this "speech" and scurried back towards the kitchen.

One of the men snapped back his neck with an audible crunch and looked Mugen in the eye with an angry look on his face. The other man quickly grabbed his wine flask and chugged the last of the rough liquid, wiping his mouth much as Mugen had just a moment before. Mugen narrowed his eyes in feral anticipation and began to back out of the restaurant, one hand on his sword hilt, the other beckoning to tonight's exercise dummies with one slender, rude finger.

They followed. _Dumb-asses._

When his partners arrived outside, Mugen began his favorite dance.

They were clumsy movers but made up for their lack of finesse in a surprisingly coordinated attack. As Mugen probably hadn't fought anyone in five or six days, he decided to play with them a little. He leapt back, parrying one blow and dodging a thrown rock at the same time. Unfortunately, his geta slipped in a mucky puddle, and Mugen's leap turned into a backflop onto muddy ground. "Shit!" he roared in frustration, startling his combatants. Fortunately, this distraction provided adequate time for him to thrust himself upright again, shake muddy droplets from his hair, and get a better grip on his sword hilt. "Crap," he yelled, "now I'm wet and smell like piss! You've really fucked up my night!"

To make matters worse, in that moment, it started to rain.

Though the rain hardly bothered his fighting strength, it did dampen his interest in prolonging the fight. Now he was just wet through and through, and worse, he was losing his wine buzz. Royally pissed off, Mugen decided to end this stupid fight. _Why are we out here again?_ flashed through his mind as he slashed one guy across the chest, and whirled around to gut the other guy. In a matter of seconds, it was over.

Just then, the rain began to pour down unrelentingly. Mugen stood still over the bodies of his two opponents, breath heaving slightly, and wondered what to do next. Wiggling a finger in his ear to be rid of an errant raindrop, he was startled by a hoarse scream muffled by the pouring rain coming from somewhere behind him, accompanied by the not-so-muffled ring of a metal weapon being drawn.

Without pause, Mugen pivoted in the rain and swung out with his sword into the dark.

It struck an old man, eyes scrunched tight in pain, mouth open wide with the words "My sons!" dying on his dying tongue. Aghast, Mugen pulled back his attack as best he could, but it was too late; the man had fallen to Mugen's sword, bearing no more than another damn fish knife. _What is it with this stupid village and their fish knives?_

Mugen stared at the old man's skinny body laying at his feet, and was struck mute. His mind was a whirl of emotions: frustration, apathy, disgust, and self-loathing were all battling in an unprecedented confluence for a brain that was used to only dealing with one emotion at a time. _Dammit, dammit, dammit,_ kept repeating in his head while the roaring of the rain drowned out any other sounds.

As such, he was completely prepared for the final attack.

The pain hit him before he was able to see its source; sharp, hot pain, that made the night suddenly seem brighter, the raindrops shimmered. The pain was racing up his body from his foot, so instinctually, Mugen pulled up his foot to get it away from the source of his pain. When he found he couldn't move it, and his actions had only made the pain worse, he began to scream and curse in earnest. Especially when he finally managed to look down to see what had happened.

Blood was spurting from Mugen's large toe, which was clenched firmly in between the dead man's teeth.

The dead sonofabitch had _bit_ him. Mugen howled.

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Please drop me a line if you want more. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:**

All the standard disclaimers apply. I don't own Samurai Champloo, its characters, its music, or plots. Neither do I own the rights to Depeche Mode's "Halo", which ran through my head along with this story's bouncy plot bunny. Enjoy!

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**  
Chapter 2: Can't you see**

The syncopated thump-drag of Mugen's steps could be heard more and more as the rain began to ease. With each step, Mugen spat a different obscenity. He didn't know _where_ he was going, but he was going to walk there until he ran out of curses. Usually, when especially angry, his brain would shut off after one or two choice words, then action would take over as his preferred outlet for rage. This night, action without thought had gotten him into this mess in the first place, so Mugen kept walking, and kept cursing.

The sudden intrusion of the musty scent of the sea and the change in the ground beneath him from mucky earth to packed sand brought him back to reality. Mugen found he had left the town – _Taka-something_ – and was now standing on a wide, flat beach dappled in moonlight from a stormy sky. He sighed deeply, and followed the smell of the ocean across the beach. To him, the water was both friend and foe: it meant imprisonment, escape; death, and renewal. He walked knee-deep into the water, welcoming the sting of the cold sea in his swollen, man-bitten toe. When he could no longer feel his feet, he stumbled backwards in the dark, absentmindedly scratched his balls, and let himself sink into the sand.

At dawn, he awoke, stretched like a cat, shook like a dog, and looked out to the sea. Half a dozen fishing boats moved back and forth, dividing the water's edge from the horizon. Behind them all, a large ship slowly moved to the West, away from the rising sun. Mugen squinted at the sight, flexed his maimed toe, and laughed aloud.

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Mugen stood at the bow of his ship, his hands lightly curled on the railing, and stared across the waves to the land beyond. _Home._ He felt surprisingly excited to see the row of islands he'd spent so much time roaming, now that he'd been away from them for a couple of years. In the time Mugen had worked for, and then with, Pao-Tien and his semi-legitimate merchant fleet, he had thought little of home; he had been far too busy regaining his sea legs, establishing himself as the best fighter of any crew, and having adventures up and down the coast of the mainland. He couldn't guess how many times he'd gone north and south from Chosun to Viet Nam and back again; he couldn't be bothered to count how many ports he knew along the coast even though he'd become a little more literate (thanks to many nights listening to, and eventually learning from, a stubborn old crewmate who liked to read from some ratty old book by some old dead Chinese guy named Kong Fuzi).

Now, within sight of what he realized really was _home_, he thought back to why he'd left in the first place. He repeatedly curled and uncurled his great right toe as he remembered the morning after that horrible night in the rain.

When Mugen awoke on the beach and saw that ship heading West, his only thought had been: _I need to get out of here. I need to be on that ship._ Now, in hindsight, he realized he probably could've ended up on any boat and been just as happy, but for some reason, he'd really wanted to be on _that_ boat. It was big and beautiful and he'd never sailed on anything like it, though back when he was partners with Mukuro, he'd raided several such ships. So he traveled as fast as he could West up the coast, until he got to the big port town (where he was heading now) where the ship had set anchor likely before departing Nihonese waters.

A series of threatening glances later, he was on a little skiff being frantically rowed by two terrified teenagers across the choppy current out to the ship. As they approached, Mugen peered up at the row of faces lined along the ship's rail in curiosity at the stranger standing tall in the bow of the little fishing boat. They'd been unfortunate enough to pull guard duty while the higher-ranked hands were ashore gathering supplies and sampling the town's delights, Mugen knew. They began whistling and jeering as, when the skiff knocked against the ship's hull, Mugen insouciantly grabbed one of the tow lines dangling along the side of the ship and began to haul himself up to the deck. He casually threw himself over the rail, began to pick his ear with his pinky finger, and glared at the wary group surrounding him.

"Which one of you asses is in charge here?"

The group murmured and shifted for a moment until they heard a high, gleeful cackle approach from the other side of the ship. The crew parted uneasily to let pass the tallest, skinniest man Mugen had ever seen. And the guy wouldn't stop laughing. Annoyed, Mugen set his hand on his sword hilt, prompting one of the crew to step protectively in front of the laughing nutjob, winding his arm back as though he would hit this armed intruder. Mugen's rigid palm shot out in response, catching the twerp on the nose, sending him flying back into the crowd.

The paper-thin man stopped laughing for a moment, looked down at his fallen crewman, looked back at Mugen, and began to laugh hysterically again, gasping for air, wiping his light brown eyes free from tears. He looked again at Mugen, encircled by a very confused crew, and drew breath long enough to say, "Welcome, Friend".

Mugen sucked on his teeth, smirked at the Captain, and looked him straight in the eye.

"So where'ya headed?"

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Lu Pao-Tien had taken on Mugen like a challenging little brother, at first using him as "muscle" in tight situations (his business being only semi-legitimate), but as Mugen relaxed more and whatever tight anger he held eased away, Pao-Tien gradually came to rely on Mugen as his right-hand man, eventually granting him responsibility for three ships and one highly illegal, routine smuggling venture. To his surprise, Mugen found the weight of such responsibility sort of…soothing in a way he'd never expected, as long as there was ample opportunity for danger involved. Pao-Tien sensed this in Mugen, a burgeoning ability to assuage a restless thirst for action with, if not exactly reason, then at least an instinct for prudence, that would suit his enterprises-toeing-the-line-of-lawful quite well.

Now, on the largest boat under his command, Mugen was returning back to where he'd left for the sea, and he found himself looking forward to the landing, as if to test whether stepping again on those shores would send him into the rage and lack of purpose he'd felt before._Only one way to know_, he thought as he called to his crew to prepare the ship to set anchor.

Three hours later, Mugen had finished his first transaction of the day and had sent a group back to the ship with sacks of ryu. He knew they'd rather be cut to pieces than to face their pissed-off captain, so he had no concern that any of this payment would be spent or stolen, and ordered his crewmen back to the boat without a second thought.

However, he now had a pocket full of money, and intended to find some fun: some food, then some female.

After a satisfying meal, Mugen wandered the town, trying to remember where the "special" teahouse district had been before. _Man, I must have been gone longer than I'd thought – it never used to be so hard to find the whores. _His attention was caught by the sound of music, and he followed it to its source, a little group of old monks playing shakuhashi flutes and biwa lutes. He leant against a nearby building, and let the deliberate, aching notes flow over him. Music was something Mugen had learned to appreciate more in his travels, and the sound of the familiar instruments renewed his sense of homecoming.

Between his full stomach and the gentle music, Mugen was nearly sleeping on his feet when he picked up the sounds of shouting men, growing in intensity until he was nearly certain he was hearing an angry mob._ Now _that's_ definitely the sound of action_, Mugen thought as he jogged towards the welcome sounds. The commotion and the clinking of metal-on-metal led him through the town to what was clearly a poorer neighborhood: the buildings were shabbily built, and garbage was haphazardly strewn across the streets. He rounded a corner, and came upon a clearing between the dirty shacks and stalls.

In the center of the square, a trio of people was bound to tall posts, stripped to their underclothes, with coarse sacks over their heads. Surrounding them was an angry mix of ill-clad peasants and low-class soldiers, shouting and scuffling. The three prisoners were squirming and struggling against their rough bonds; Mugen examined them, trying to guess at their crime. The first two he dismissed quickly as being immensely uninteresting: they were pretty puny men, young, but certainly no great fighters. He could tell by the way their bony knees were knocking together as though they _knew_ their efforts to escape would be in vain.

The third person was clearly in a different class. And by that, he meant:_whoa, ass…._

The third prisoner had the nicest female ass he'd seen in quite a while, and he'd had ample opportunity to study them in all their wonderful variations over ten thousand miles of sea ports. He straightened, on tiptoe, to better view that lovely rear as it flowed down into exposed, creamy lush thighs, surprisingly muscular calves, and petite feet. The woman too was struggling, but as she writhed sinuously against her restraints, it was clear that her movements had purpose, that she expected to either free herself or seduce someone into releasing her. _Interesting._

Mugen let out a low whistle.

Suddenly someone in the mob started a chant, and it spread amongst the crowd, quietly at first, but then more insistently: _Let them speak! Let them speak!_ After this went on for a few minutes, and the crowd grew even more rowdy, one of the soldiers stepped forward to acquiesce, and yanked the sack off of the middle prisoner, exposing an older-than-expected head, gagged with a dirty bit of torn sacking. This too was pulled down, and the man's resultant whooshing gulp of air was followed by such a fit of coughing that he couldn't speak. The guard prodded the seized man none too gently in the belly, prompting even more coughing. The crowd's chant began to break apart into angry shouts once more. _A riot's in the works_, Mugen predicted, _unless they let that hottie speak._ He silently took up the crowd's chant, hoping he'd get a peek at her top half. It couldn't possibly be hotter than her bottom half.

Mugen's wish was rewarded when the soldier pulled her hood off as well. From this angle, all he could see was a tangled mass of dark chestnut hair and the start of a pleasantly bodacious bosom. Mugen began to slowly move around the crowd's edge to get a better look as the disconcerted guard moved to remove her gag as well. The instant it came off, the woman began to squeal in the loudest voice Mugen had ever heard: "You _assholes_! What the hell do you think you're doing?" she spat as she swung her head away to address the group of soldiers who were desperately trying to hold back the crowd. "You're all a bunch of fuck-ups, aren't you? We've done _nothing_wrong!"

For some reason, Mugen's brain began to buzz with impatience and disappointment. If the hag screeched like that, maybe she _wasn't_ the world's most perfect woman. Still, with a butt like that, he wasn't going to give up so easily, and he hadn't yet seen her face….

The woman calmed nearly instantly, and not only did she turn down the volume, but her voice dropped at least an octave and a half, yet she managed to speak loudly enough for Mugen to hear: "Please, I'm sure you can comprehend that a mistake has been made."

The brain-buzzing intensified a step, and Mugen moved a bit more quickly around the back of the crowd. The woman turned her attention to her rapt and quieting audience. "We've clearly been confused with some other horrible people."

_Crap. Do I _know_ this chick?_ Mugen wondered.

"Can't we talk about this?" the woman practically _purred_ as she ended her plea with a suggestive arch of her back. At this, Mugen surged forward through the crowd; he was easily a head taller than most of the people there, so he didn't have to make much effort to get a good look at the woman's face. At the rising of his head above the crowd's, her attention swung to him.

Mugen's head snapped back in shock. _What the fffuh_…"Fuu?"

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**Author's note:** Pretty please! If you like it or not, please review! It's the only way I know to bother posting my stress relief. Otherwise, I'll do as I _should_ and write my dissertation instead!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:**

All the standard disclaimers apply. I don't own Samurai Champloo, its characters, its music, or plots. Neither do I own the rights to Depeche Mode's "Halo", which ran through my head along with this story's bouncy plot bunny.

My scene breaks keep disappearing! So I'm resorting to a Cheerios chain. If anyone has any clues for me, please let me know how to fix them...darn html!

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**Chapter 3: Fall into my arms**

Mugen's head snapped back in shock. _What the fffuh_…"Fuu?"

He thought he'd whispered it, but considering many people surrounding him had suddenly turned to him, he realized that he'd probably squeaked it out, voice cracking as it tended to do (annoyingly) when he was truly surprised. It was also clear that _she_ had heard him too, as within seconds her face went from pitiful to stunned to triumphant, transformed by a wild and glowing smile. She didn't lose the smile, but her twinkling eyes (how in the hell they could sparkle from yards and yards away, Mugen didn't know) narrowed a bit as she raised the tone and volume of her voice.

Pitched to carry over the milling crowd, she spoke. "Hey, isn't there anyone in this herd of village idiots _man enough_ to explain to these guys why we should be let go?" The sassy wench locked her eyes with Mugen's throughout this little speech. _That would've been a whine years ago. When did she learn to stop whining and sound so…sexy? Crap_, thought Mugen and he found himself rolling forward onto the balls of his feet as his buttocks tensed up.

Accompanying this request was a shift in the crowd's mood, too, as people shifted nervously and more than a few appreciative men started to bounce in anticipation, clearly debating whether they should attempt a rescue and thus have a chance with that amazingly hot girl. Mugen snorted derisively at the wimps surrounding him and thrashed his head in a quick and crackling roll from shoulder to shoulder. He glanced back at Fuu, who was still smiling but those eyes were starting to burn holes into Mugen's forehead with impatience. She twisted slightly to force her breasts into their best angle for viewing from Mugen's perspective, and rubbed her bum a bit against the post to which she was bound. _Shit, I'm a sucker for luscious near-naked women, even if it _is_ Fuu. _

It was going to be a very interesting day for Mugen. After all, he had wanted to find some fun. Now I was clear he was going to get a handful. _Or two._ Mugen eyed her again, trying to superimpose the image of the scrawny kid on the curves of the woman mounted on the post ahead of him like a tasty snack. He snapped out of his reverie when his attention was diverted from the disturbing double image to the movement of a couple of the soldiers towards Fuu. As one raised his sword edge towards Fuu's downshifting smile, Mugen pounced forward, releasing the coiling energy that had been building in his wirier-than-ever frame. Quickly and silently, he sped through the crowd releasing his katana without pause or care for the close-quartered crowd. Lips peeled back from his gnashing teeth and his fighting glare, once wild, feral, had been honed to that of a flashing-eyed falcon. Upon reaching the clearing surrounding the prisoners, Mugen twisted in a blur of brown and gold and steel that became crimson-tinged as one, two, three soldiers crumpled without sound to the dusty ground.

In the cloud of settling dust Mugen backed towards the post bearing Fuu, who had thankfully gone very still. Glaring at the confused remaining soldiers, and sweeping his gaze across the surprised crowd, Mugen slashed his blade backward, a move that drew a startled collective gasp from everyone, including the bound Fuu. Mugen emitted a sound somewhere between a growl and a chuckle and stepped backwards even as the ropes that had bound her dropped to the ground, and instead of releasing her to the mercy of gravity Mugen caught Fuu over his shoulder. Her shriek was cut off by the intrusion of a well-muscled shoulder into her diaphragm. Mugen bounced up in an effort to get a firmer grip on her (backside), growled again, and darted back the way he'd come, before any one got any ideas to fight him, Fuu's nose bouncing against his abdomen with every step.

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As he ran, he used his nose to calculate how far they'd have to go to reach his ship. _Damn, this girl got heavy_, he thought, _or I've gotten soft at sea. Didn't realize I'd wandered into town this far._ As Mugen scampered down alleys and through back streets, his thoughts were interrupted by a pounding attack on his balls. "Eh? Haaaayy!" he shouted as he dumped his burden none too gently on the ground in the dark shade behind what smelled like an eel stall. "Don't bust my nards, lady, I just saved yer ass!" he hissed as he took in the feminine form balled up on the ground, gasping for breath. _Lady? Where'd that come from? And damn all that heaving, it makes her barely-bound chest look better than breakfast._

"I couldn't breathe, you dipshit!" Fuu rasped out between gasps. Still panting, she thrust up her roughly bound wrists towards his waist, and Mugen involuntarily jumped backwards, his balls apparently not wanting to risk another assault. Now that he was looking at her properly, he could see bruises all along her brown arms, and some fresh blood streaked the skin beneath the rough ropes. His stomach churned unexpectedly, and he glanced to see her legs had suffered the same treatment.

He gulped past the growing lump in his throat. His irritation dissipated as he shifted his sword hilt in his hand and quickly slashed through the ropes that bound Fuu's ankles and hands. He appraised her form again, this time ignoring the bruises and instead focusing on the complex concavities and convexities that blended together to form the hottest stems he'd seen in a long time, _except for that one girl in…._ "You, uh, _are_ Fuu, aren't you?"

The eye-roll response was as much as an affirmative as what came out of her mouth next, following an appreciative sigh as the girl rubbed at her angry-looking ankles. "Gimme a break! Do you mean you weren't _sure_? That you would've grabbed anyone in that position? Crap, I mean, I know it's been a few years but surely you still…" Fuu's chatter died off as they heard in the same instant the shouts and clatter of what was surely an approaching effort to recapture the prisoner.

"C'mon," Mugen grunted as he grabbed at Fuu's nearest hand and hauled her to her feet. "We're gonna have to run for it," he declared as he swung his head from left to right again, trying to recapture the scent of the sea. He made his decision and headed towards it, only to be stopped by the pull of dead weight behind him. Fuu had crumpled to her knees in the middle of the path, a steely look of grim resolve on her face.

"I can't run, I think an ankle's broken," she said, voice flat between her clenched teeth. "You'd better go, I'll make my own way, thanks," Fuu said without looking at him.

Mugen spluttered, then wordlessly dropped to a crouch in front of her, presenting his back. "Climb on." He glanced back at her face, her hard eyes widening into surprise. He extended his arms behind him, waving his free hand with impatience as he switched his grip on his sword. "I'll get you to my ship, then drop you off at the next harbor, okay? Just get the hell on, before I decide to go have some _fun_ elsewhere." Her eyes narrowed again in disgust, but Fuu scooted forward to wrap her arms and legs around him, and Mugen leapt up like a track runner off the starting blocks, and ran out into the busy street. As he nimbly flew through the stream of bodies, carts, and assorted animals, he slowly ran his sword-free hand up the back of Fuu's thigh to her backside. At her squeal of protest, Mugen grunted, "Need a better grip."

"Hmph, yeah, I bet," Fuu growled, hot breath in his ear.

Mugen adjusted his grip and plunged ahead, the sound of shouting not far behind.

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With great relief Mugen rounded a corner and caught sight of the masts of the boats in the harbor. He thought he might make it aboard his own ship before the idiots pursuing them could see them running up the plank, but there was no point in taking any chances. "What are we…" Fuu hissed as Mugen's geta thudded against the transition from the dirt of the city road to the wooden boards of the docks.

"We're headed to that black one out there," he replied, nodding his head out towards the water.

"Hmm. It's so…big," Fuu laughed against his shoulder.

"Wait 'til you see it up close," Mugen quipped, and was rewarded with a deep chuckle that made Fuu's breasts vibrate against his shoulder blades.

They approached a long pier with a pile of barrels and bags piled high at its edge. The bodies sprawled atop these goods jumped to their feet as Mugen approached. "You lazy shits, go take care of our friends – they're not too far behind," he barked in Cantonese as he passed. His men rushed past them without even an eyebrow wiggle at their captain's cargo. Mugen skidded to a halt when they reached the skiff, already partially loaded with a barrel of fish and some bundles of cloth. "Easy now," he muttered with unexpected gentleness as he crouched to let Fuu down on the dock, remembering how he'd dumped her on her butt before. She held herself stiffly, balancing mostly on one foot as she looked warily from down at the little boat to out at the ship. Mugen leapt down into the boat and rapidly unwound the heavy rope from its tethering hitch. He glared up at the troublesome wench. "Do you want me to take you back, or d'ya wanna get out of here," he asked in irritation.

Fuu's slight frown cleared and she managed to sit on the dock's edge without a sound. Mugen reached up for her, clutching her pleasantly curved waist to pull her down into the boat. "What's wrong?"

Fuu's mouth pursed into a little bud before she spoke. "I don't want to be any trouble. I…" she faltered a bit, "I think you must be sick of coming to my rescue by now."

"Well that hardly seemed to matter back there, did it? Didn't you want to keep your head?" he fumed. _What in the fuck is this moody cow's issue?_ "Now let's get the hell outta here. We'll worry 'bout your trouble later, ok?" She nodded, not looking him in the face, and sat against one of the sacks of cloth. "Keep your head down," he grunted as Mugen grabbed the oars and began efficiently slicing through the lapping waves.

Fuu slid down further until she was lying on the bottom of the boat. She winced as she bumped her visibly purple ankle against the boat's side. _It's funny_, thought Mugen as he rowed effortlessly, _all that exposed skin and I can't keep from staring at her ankle._ Her voice returned his attention to her face.

"This is…_your_ ship we're headed to?" Mugen winced at the skepticism in her voice, but with his newfound introspection, was mature enough to see the reason for it.

He puffed his chest out in exaggerated manly pride. "Yeah, I'm her captain." Mugen glanced behind him to gauge the remaining distance to the ship, then returned his attention back to his passenger. "Actually, she's not my only one, just the biggest. This is our first trip back from the continent in a couple of years."

"So you're a trader, now? Totally legit?"

"Well, what's 'legit'? No one's ever _totally_ legit, nowadays." Mugen scowled back over his shoulder again as the side of his ship loomed near. He twisted the oars in the water to slow down the little craft and let out an ear-shattering whistle, which was answered by the popping of heads over the side rail and a series of whoops and whistles from above. Mugen grinned widely, his glance shifted back and forth between his crew and Fuu. As she sat up in the boat, the whistles got significantly louder. "They're gonna _love_ having you aboard."

The hesitation Fuu showed earlier abruptly vanished, and she flashed a bright smile that Mugen was sure caught the attention of every one of the men aboard ship. _That would get any man's attention, and then some,_ Mugen thought. He stood to catch one of the lines and hollered up to his men as he lashed the skiff to the side of the ship. "Oi, we need a net to pull this," he paused with a smirk, "_special cargo_ aboard. Move yer asses!" The faces at the rail disappeared in a flurry of activity.

Mugen fixed his gaze on his old…_companion? Pain in the ass is more like it_…who was glowing as she surveyed the impressive size and condition of the pride of Pao-Tien's "trading" fleet, and Mugen felt unreasonably proud of himself. It was not a feeling with which he'd had much experience, for he'd never cared about anyone's opinion of his finer qualities (apart from his fighting skills) until he'd fallen in with Pao-Tien. Or so he'd told himself. But looking at the woman he'd known as a scrawny kid, he realized that somehow, they'd both grown up. And now he cared.

"So, you still want to come aboard? Or are you worried for your honor with so many sailors around?" Mugen gave her a half-hearted impression of a boozy leer.

Surprisingly, Fuu brightened even more at this question. "If you're willing to take aboard a criminal, how can I object?" She glanced down at her barely-covered body, then glanced up at him through her curly lashes. "Besides, who says I have any honor to worry about anymore?" She reached up a hand towards the pirate.

_Wrong wrong wrong_ screamed Mugen's brain, even as his balls suddenly tightened. Why the idea of her being without honor both repelled and ignited him, he didn't know, but he ignored his turbulent feelings and grabbed her delicate forearm to pull her to her feet. The squealing of the pulley overhead told him the net was being dropped down to them. He scooped her into his arms and turned to place her in the cargo net. "So…you gonna tell me what happened to you before, or after we…play?" As the pulley began to squeak again, Fuu's laughter fell down to him. Mugen craned his neck to watch the dimples of her lower spine peeking out from between the knots in the net.

"Actually, _Captain_, I think I've got a business proposition for you first." Fuu rolled over in the net so her breasts strained against the ropes, and her head and arm swung free. "I think you might be just what I've been looking for. How'd you like to work for me…again?" She waved her hand and something glistened as it fell, catching the light of the setting sun until it landed at Mugen's feet.

He bent down to pick it up: a coin.

Tails-side-up.

"Hell-o, Boys!" Fuu cried to the cheering men as they hoisted her aboard. Mugen cluched the coin for a moment, then grinning ear-to-ear, began climbing the rope up to the deck.

oooooooooooo

**Author's note:** I had to end it here because I dislike reading long chappies. It's more entertaining to break up the fun! Chapter 4 should be out fairly soon, and we'll finally get some of Fuu's story. Thank you to everyone who has encouraged me to keep this story going, and please let me know what you think. If you want more, or want something different, I want to know!!


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